Four Times Phil Coulson Was A Troll
by hannahsoapy
Summary: "My lava lamp has never led me wrong, sir. It's very reliable." Rated T because Fury cusses. A lot.


This takes place in my 'Phil Coulson and the Master of Death' universe (where Phil is a squib) sometime after the first chapter, when Fury and Hill learn about the existence of wizards. Just, you know, squint really hard at my wibbly wobbly timeline and remind yourself that I'm really terrible at them, because some of this stuff is definitely out of order.

For those of you looking for an update on PCatMoD: I'm working on it. I like to have a few chapters written ahead before I post, just in case I need to change stuff. Also, my sister only betas my multi-chapter things; I don't wait for her to read over this short stuff :)

Inspired by a review from kankananime123.

* * *

 **Nargles**

"What the hell is wrong with my motherfucking agents!" Fury ranted, throwing a stack of paperwork down on the desk in frustration. Phil raised an eyebrow. He had no idea what had happened to make Fury so irate.

"It's probably the Nargles," he responded, completely straight-faced.

Fury's single eye fixed on him in disbelief.

"The _what_?!"

"Nargles, sir," Phil said calmly. "We have quite an infestation right now."

Fury stared at him. Phil didn't blink.

"Motherfucking…," Fury cursed, striding from the room angrily.

Phil's mouth quirked in a tiny smile.

* * *

 **Bowtruckles**

"Coulson?" Hill's voice called from his office doorway.

"Yes?" Phil asked, attention still fixed on another haphazard mission report from Barton, Romanova's scripted hand filling in the details in the margins. It was a real mystery, how those two got anything done, but nobody could deny they were the best team in SHIELD.

"Your mission report says a 'friendly bowtruckle' helped you pick a lock?"

Oops. He'd meant to just say he'd picked the lock himself. He probably would have, too, but the bowtruckle _had_ offered, and he hadn't wanted to ruin his favorite tie clip.

"That's correct, Hill."

"Coulson, bowtruckles aren't… they don't exist. I looked it up; there's no such thing."

Phil looked up at her and frowned. She did look a bit upset.

"No, no," he said, trying to placate her. "They do. I can lend you my copy of 'Advanced Entomology' if you like."

"That's, that's all right, Coulson," Hill said, a slight panic in her eyes as she backed out of his office. "I'll, uh, take your word for it."

Phil shrugged and went back to Barton and Romanova's report.

* * *

 **Grant Ward**

"Care to inform me why you rejected Ward for your team?" Fury demanded.

"I didn't know you were so invested in his career," Phil said. Fury narrowed his eye.

"You denied one of our most promising specialists," Fury insisted, not giving up the point.

Phil sighed. "My lava lamp didn't like him."

"Your _lava lamp_?!"

"Yes. It turned red the moment he walked in."

"Coulson. _Phil_ ," Fury said, rubbing his forehead. "Lava lamps cannot assess an agent's character. And why the hell do you even own a lava lamp, anymore?"

"My lava lamp has never led me wrong, sir," Phil said earnestly. "It's very reliable."

(It was, actually. He'd bought the unique lava lamp Sneakoscope over a decade ago, and it was still a top-of-the-line model.)

Fury was actually speechless for a minute. Phil awarded himself one hundred imaginary House points.

"Fine," Fury grumbled, standing to leave. "But you get to explain to Garrett why his protégé isn't good enough for you."

"My lava lamp doesn't like him, either," Phil muttered sullenly.

* * *

 **Mail**

An owl tapped on Fury's office window. He glared at it, and turned back to his work. It tapped again. Then it _screeched_.

"Motherfucking…" Fury said, getting up and walking to the window. He threw the latch, and cracked it open to yell at the bird, but the moment the window was open the bird swooped inside and perched itself on the back of his office chair.

"What the hell! Get out!"

The owl cocked its head, and lifted its leg towards him. Fury approached it cautiously. Held carefully by its talons was a small, lumpy letter. He slowly reached out, and the owl dropped it into his hand.

He opened the letter, and the cause of the lump fell out onto his desk. It was an unmarked flash-drive. Fury turned to the letter.

" _Fury,_ " it read.

" _The flash-drive contains some very important, time-sensitive documents. I couldn't risk sending them any way that might be intercepted. Sorry about the owl, but it was the least conspicuous I could get. My other option was a toucan._

 _Coulson._ "

"A _toucan_?" Fury said, squinting at the paper to be sure he'd read it correctly. The owl, still on the back of the chair, rustled its feathers, and looked at him expectantly.

"Uh, thank you?"

The owl gave him a low hoot, and then flapped away, back out the window.

Fury watched it until it was a speck in the distance, and then he appeared to go about his day as normal, but several times throughout the day, agents were startled to hear the intimidating director mutter, "A _toucan_?" as he paced past them.

* * *

 **+1 Brooms**

"You are not a motherfucking wizard, Coulson!" Fury yelled, although it was caged more as a question.

Phil grimaced at the volume, and then swerved to avoid another piece of wreckage falling midair. They had been investigating an old, long-abandoned HYDRA base that they thought might have some information they needed. It was relatively straightforward, until it wasn't.

Somehow, they'd tripped a silent wire, and the building was rigged to blow. They were still inside when the first explosive went off, deep below in the building, an ominous rumbling their only warning.

They'd run toward the exit, but they were high up in the building, much too far to get to the exit in time. Phil had dragged a bewildered Fury into a large office, with tall windows, reached into his pocket, and retrieved his wallet.

Fury had looked at him incredulously. "Coulson! What are you doing?! Did you miss the part where the goddamned building was falling down around us?!"

Phil ignored the tirade, and pulled his broomstick out of the expanded pocket of his wallet. (His Christmas presents this year had been incredibly practical.) He got a stunned Fury to mount the broom behind him, and then they flew straight out the window, glass and debris from the exploding building behind them.

Fury got his… fury back a few seconds later.

Phil tapped his comm. "Hill, lower the ramp, we're coming in hot."

"Way ahead of you," came the response. "You couldn't have tried to avoid blowing up the building?"

"Sorry," Phil said, as he swooped into the Quinjet, landing nimbly, and leaping off. Hill stood there, mouth agape at the sight. Fury stumbled awkwardly getting off of the broom, and then whirled around to face Phil.

"Coulson-" he started, but Phil cut him off.

"No, I'm not a wizard. I'm a squib."

"And what the hell is that, exactly?"

"It's ah… all the perks of being a wizard, just, without the magic?"

Fury regarded him for a moment. "That's a shit deal, Phil."

"You said it," Phil said. "Better than a no-maj, anyway."

"Hmph," Fury grouched. "Anything else you can do?"

"No sir, I'm afraid I am perfectly ordinary," Phil smiled. "Although, did you know Captain America's rumoured to have been a squib, too?"

"Huh," said Fury. "Well, ask him yourself, when he wakes up."

"What!?"

* * *

Well, that was fun! Teehee :)


End file.
